by Alex Kava
It hadn’t been five minutes, and Scout came to a sudden stop. So sudden, Jason almost tripped over him. Creed followed from about ten feet behind. This was a blind hide, which meant that even the handler didn’t know the location. That way, Jason couldn’t give Scout any hints.
Not intentional hints, of course. This was a tricky business. Handlers and dogs created a deep and trusting bond. Handlers needed to make sure their dogs didn’t get hurt. An air scent dog could get so caught up in following a scent it may not pay close attention to barbed wire, thorns and thicket, sharp rocks or flood waters with hidden debris. The handler and dog were a team, and yet, the dog was still expected to work separately. The dog needed to be more focused on finding the targeted scent than pleasing the handler.
The pile of freshly dug dirt was the surprise test Creed had planted. He wanted to see if Scout and Jason had reached that level in their relationship.
Creed watched, backing away a bit so he wouldn’t project his own interest on the mound that Scout was sniffing. Jason waited, patiently, never once glancing back at Creed. Not even when Scout looked up to check his handler’s expression as if to ask, “Is this important?”
The dog sniffed more rapidly and did a quick scrape at the ground next to the pile. He danced at the end of the leash, poking his nose in the air. Another eye-roll back up to Jason’s face. Then without warning, Scout lifted his leg and peed on the mound.
Creed wiped a hand over his smile.
Scout turned away, ready to go. His nose was in the air. He already caught another scent and this time he yanked hard, almost knocking Jason off his feet.
Jason shot a glance back, and Creed gave him the slightest of nods to let him know that, yes, Scout was right to leave the mound behind. Not only leave it behind but also mark it, so he wouldn’t waste any more time with the distracting smell. Creed had buried the roadkill earlier. The scent of a dead animal was different than the scent of a dead human, but for a dog, dead animals could smell too interesting to ignore. This was one of the tests Creed had prepared, and Scout had passed.
Creed followed Jason and Scout deeper into the woods. The canister he’d hidden wasn’t much farther. He’d left it in an elbow of a tree. The second test would be for Jason. Would he believe his dog when Scout told him the target was above them?
But the dog was straining at the end of the leash. Scout’s nose twitched, and he was starting to pant from pulling so hard. Creed quickened his pace to catch up with the pair. He could see the hair on the back of the dog’s neck standing up. Before he could tell Jason to slow down, the kid came to a sudden stop. He was reigning in Scout, adding his prosthetic so he could reel in the dog despite Scout’s dancing and growling.
“I hope this isn’t your surprise,” Jason said.
That’s when Creed finally saw what had Scout so worked up. Less than fifty feet away, a black bear stared at them from between the trees.
Chapter 2
“Keep Scout close at your side,” Creed told Jason. “Don’t let him go.”
“Of course, I’m not gonna let him go.”
What Creed really wanted to ask is if Jason could hold the dog since he wasn’t accustomed to using the prosthetic. Was he capable of controlling a frenzied dog in a situation like this? Despite being only a year old, Scout was a solid sixty pounds, and right now, he was using all that weight to yank and tug while emitting a low growl mixed with a whine.
“And keep him quiet.”
“Scout, quiet,” Jason gave the command, but the dog continued to lunge, jumping on his back legs with his front paws pedaling the air. “Scout, heel.”
It didn’t work. Scout still twisted and tugged. Jason shortened the leash, wrapping it around and around his wrist until only about a foot separated him and the dog.
Creed knew that black bears were naturally shy. Loud noise usually scared them enough to turn and walk away. Scout provided enough chaos that should have made the bear leave. But this one was becoming more and more interested. It clearly was focused on Scout.
Creed walked slowly in front of Jason as he grabbed at his belt only to find the canister of bear spray missing. His stomach did a flip, and he bit back a curse. He didn’t gear up for training sessions like he did for actual searches. Time for that to change.
“What the hell do we do?” Jason asked, keeping his voice low and casual, but Creed recognized the panic anyway.
“They don’t usually attack unless they feel threatened,” he told Jason just as the bear stood up on its hind legs to get a better view of them.
“Damn,” Jason said under his breath, all casualness gone from his tone. “I’d say he’s feeling threatened.”
“This time of year he’s looking for some easy food. They triple or quadruple their calories preparing for the cool temps.” As Creed talked he eased himself between the bear and Scout.
“Are we easy food?” Jason asked.
“I meant garbage left out. From what I remember, they’re omnivores. Mostly plants and bugs.”
Even as he tried to convince Jason they were okay, Creed began to search the ground without taking his focus off the bear. A fallen branch was about a yard from his feet. A few green leaves sprouted from one end, so it wasn’t dried and hollow. It might pack enough punch if necessary. His eyes scanned the trees, making sure there weren’t any others. Black bears tended to be solitary creatures, but if this was a female with a cub or yearling, they were in trouble.
“So what’s the plan?” Jason wanted to know. “I can’t climb a tree with a dog.”
“Black bears have curved claws. He’d be able to climb up after us.”
“Can we outrun him?”
“We definitely don’t want to do that. Could trigger his chase instinct.”
“Chase instinct? For a guy who knows so much about bears you’d think you’d have some UDAP bear spray.”
“Believe me, it just became mandatory gear.”
Then the bear dropped back to the ground, and Creed felt his stomach do the same. He heard a huff-huff. The bear was blowing air through its mouth. Maybe it was trying to scare them off.
Creed tried to remember anything he could about bear attacks. There had been several confrontations in the news lately. He hadn’t worried about bears coming around their facilities. His crew was careful about keeping food stored inside as well as locking up garbage cans. But their property stretched over fifty acres, much of it woods and undeveloped. More than half of it they’d left natural with plenty of pecan trees, live oaks and a shallow creek that ran along the northern edge. When Creed thought about it that way, he realized they were probably lucky they hadn’t seen a bear until now.
“So what’s our plan?” Jason asked.
“You and Scout start backing away. Do it slow and easy. Try to keep Scout from jumping around and whining.”
The bear stood up again, but it still didn’t advance. It was sniffing them.
Creed heard the kid suck in air behind him. But he had to give Scout credit. For all his earlier dancing and growling, the dog stayed beside his handler now, shifting and watching, but not barking. It was something Creed insisted they teach their scent dogs. When to bark and when to keep quiet were important tools. Originally, it was a safety measure so a barking dog couldn’t alert drug smugglers. Who knew it would come in handy when confronting a bear.
“What about you?” Jason wanted to know.
“Just do what I tell you, okay?” Creed slid to his right and slowly reached for the branch, never taking his eyes off the bear. “And if he charges, do not let Scout go.”
When Jason still didn’t move, Creed added, “Go on. Nice and easy.”
Creed heard the shuffle and crunch behind him, dog and handler following his instructions. One thing Jason’s military training had taught him was not to argue when given orders by his superior. But as Jason and Scout were b
acking away, Creed could hear more huffs and a snap-clack that sounded like the bear was chomping its teeth together.
And just at that moment, Creed’s cell phone started vibrating in his pocket.
It had to be Hannah, his business partner. He quickly contemplated whether or not there was anything she could do to help. The bear stayed on its hind legs, and now it leaned to the left. It stretched its neck and tilted its head. The retreating dog still held its interest. What the hell was he going to do if the bear decided to follow Scout?
Creed gripped the branch. It felt heavy and solid, and it was long enough to swing, but he couldn’t help thinking that it would probably bounce off the bear. A hit with something like this would aggravate more than injure. But maybe it would buy time.
He glanced over his shoulder. Jason and Scout had taken a turn and disappeared down one of the paths. He couldn’t see them through the thick foliage. There was more shuffling and crackling in front of Creed now, not behind him. The bear dropped to the ground and stared as if seeing him for the first time. Creed held his breath and wished he could silence the thumping of his heart.
The bear raised its nose and sniffed the air, again, and Creed was certain it smelled his anxiety. Hell, who was he kidding? It could smell his fear.
Then without warning, the bear sat back down and snatched up a swatch of green, what Creed recognized as holly. It kept an eye on Creed but began plucking off the tiny red berries with its lips, delicately taking them into its mouth, one by one. They had interrupted its meal. Would it simply go back to it?
Creed realized he was squeezing the branch so tight that his hand ached. He took a small step backward and stopped. When the bear continued eating, Creed took a few more steps, careful not to trip and keeping his hands—along with the branch—steady and dropped at his side.
By the time he made it to the curved path that Jason and Scout had taken, he was feeling he was home free. The bear kept watching but now seemed bored with him and continued eating even as Creed turned and disappeared from its sight.
His phone vibrated in his pocket, again. He fished it out as he started walking sideways and listening intently. Without looking, he thumbed the phone on and stole a glance. There were several text messages from Hannah. The last one said:
NEED YOU BACK AT THE HOUSE FOR A PHONE CALL.
He didn’t dare drop the branch and managed to tap out a reply and send:
CAN IT WAIT?
Her response was almost instantaneous.
NO. SORRY. IT’S ABOUT BRODIE.
In the last ten or fifteen minutes he feared a black bear might rip him to shreds, but that was nothing compared to what he was feeling right now. Those three words, “It’s about Brodie,” threatened to knock him completely off his feet.
Chapter 3
Eastern Nebraska
FBI Special Agent Maggie O’Dell didn’t like waiting. Especially in the dark. She’d been hopped-up on adrenaline for the last two hours. Mud sucked at her shoes. Sweat trickled down her back despite a cool breeze, a damp cool breeze. Detective Tommy Pakula had already mentioned several times that the temperatures were all over the place.
“Nothing new for Nebraska,” he told her.
It had been ninety-degrees less than ten hours ago, so of course, Maggie hadn’t thought to bring a jacket. They talked about the weather—low, muffled whispers, a few curses—as though they were old friends chatting. Old friends who just happened to be standing five rows deep in a cornfield at half-past midnight.
A ten-year FBI veteran, Maggie had chased killers through the snow, the woods, even a cemetery, but this was her first cornfield. The stalks were taller than her. The long leaves waved and flapped—half green, half brown—and surprisingly razor-sharp.
Despite a crescent moon, it was pitch black and almost impossible to see any of the others. She was feeling a bit anxious, maybe even a bit claustrophobic. She’d heard about people getting lost in cornfields, and now she understood how disorienting it could be. She couldn’t shake the isolation despite being surrounded by a hidden battalion of law enforcement officers.
Okay, battalion was a bit of an exaggeration. It was more like a dozen. Two dozen, if she counted those deputies and state troopers who were three miles away on the closest blacktop, waiting for instructions.
Maggie couldn’t help noticing that the sounds were even different from inside the cornfield. The songs of night birds calling to each other were muffled, but the buzz of mosquitoes, amplified. The breeze seemed to be an entity of its own. It wisped through the rows like a ghost riding an airwave. Maggie could hear a gust approaching, a slight moan in the distance growing and getting louder and louder, long before she felt its arrival. And then, it would be only a puff of air, lifting a strand of damp hair from the back of her neck.
The silence and the darkness made this raid unsettling, ominously so, like a calm before a storm. The sound of the wind and mosquitos competed with a distant train whistle. The moon and a sky full of stars only emphasized how truly dark it was. Out here there were no streetlights, no headlights, only two dim yellow stains behind the curtained windows of the clapboard farmhouse.
A few minutes ago, she caught a glint of light in the trees. A stand of evergreens bordered the dirt track that was the driveway. Pakula had seen it, too, and was immediately on his radio telling the guilty officer “to keep the hell off your cell phone.”
“How much longer?” she asked, swatting at another mosquito. She kept her pair of earbuds dangling, preferring the night sounds and the rustling of the cornstalks to the static of the radio.
“The team’s almost ready. They’re trying to get a radar read on how many are in the house. Where they are.”
“Heat sensitive or motion?” she asked, realizing it made no difference to her. This wasn’t her area of expertise. It wasn’t Pakula’s either, and he simply shrugged.
Although he was the local head of the task force, the FBI was running the show tonight. Both Pakula and Maggie were part of a nationwide sweep called Operation Cross Country. Tonight’s raid was one of dozens going on across the country. But it was Maggie who brought them to this farmhouse in southeast Nebraska. And she hoped like hell it wouldn’t be a bust.
Maggie O’Dell had garnered a reputation for putting together profiles of serial killers, serial arsonists, even a terrorist or two. This was her first human trafficker profile. In the back of her mind, a tad of skepticism nagged at her. Elijah Dunn didn’t have the rapsheet to match the suspicion. And this quiet little farmhouse, with the closest neighbor eight miles away, certainly didn’t look like a place a trafficker would keep his merchandise.
Or maybe it was the perfect place.
Still, the house and yards—even the outbuildings—looked well kept. Maggie had noticed a porch swing in the back and a couple of larger planters with flowers. The property didn’t look like it belonged to a criminal.
It didn’t help matters that Pakula had asked one too many times if Maggie was sure this was their guy.
She and Pakula had worked together before. He respected her. He had actually requested her for this case. To have him questioning her, even if he didn’t say it out loud, started to unravel Maggie’s certainty.
Their suspect, Elijah Dunn had been tagged by the local authorities as a petty thief who got drunk or stoned depending on how much cash he came across. Sheriff deputies who knew him claimed Eli had a few loose screws. He appeared harmless, but they admitted the man was a gifted liar. His file contained only minor infractions: possession of marijuana, a couple of disorderly conducts and one case of breaking and entering. No weapon was involved in the latter and the charges were eventually dropped.
But Maggie hadn’t based her profile solely on his criminal record. It was Eli’s cyber presence and Internet activity that drew her attention. Together with Agent Antonio Alonzo—Quantico’s computer wizard—a compi
lation of cyber ads and posts on the Darknet led to email accounts created by Elijah Dunn. His cyber activity added the grist to Maggie’s profile. That and a number of other things. Like the fact that he owned a Ford F150 pickup with a truck cab, a new vehicle that he had already driven over 30,000 miles in less than a year. Many of those miles across various state lines.
Eli took good care of his pickup—just like his property—and Agent Alonzo had been able to track all maintenance and oil changes through the dealership’s computer records. The dealership happened to have affiliate service centers along Eli’s travel routes in Missouri, Alabama and Florida. For an unemployed petty criminal who never had possession of more than a few grams of pot—which probably cancelled out drug trafficking—where did he go?
If he wasn’t trafficking drugs or stolen goods, was it possible he was moving some other cargo? Those kinds of details, along with his Internet activity, led Maggie to believe the drunk, petty thief was not only a gifted liar, but also a master manipulator. She was willing to bet her reputation on it.
Now, she hoped there was, at least, a computer hard drive inside that quaint farmhouse that would backup her suspicions. If she was correct, they would find an incriminating inventory, along with other Darknet ads and posts, emails and possibly text messages on his cell phone.
If she was wrong…
Damn, she didn’t want to think about the consequences if she was wrong.
“They’re going in the front,” Pakula whispered.
She could see he already had his weapon down by his side.
Maggie left hers in her shoulder holster. She slipped the earbuds in and followed Pakula between the stalks. When they came to the edge of the field, they were about a hundred feet from the back of the house. She was surprised how much her eyes had adjusted to the dark. Still, from this angle they couldn’t see the team approaching the front door.
